Dear Mother,
Love from the solded soul of a warrior. Life within the warrior has turned against us, holding the line and seeing the cracked sky make us scream unheard screams, like where flames burn to the soul of the dead. On the land of Pur, the Empire of Jenithesya has taken over the fields where our people used to farm. The sun's rays are blocked by the influence of clouds, while the King Marses of Altira—the immortal, or mortals holding the spear—has deployed the battalion towards the east of Altira. I am..."
"Hey moron, what are you doing?" a voice called his name in the trench of cold mud, holding the silver-shackled armor.
"Man, we are in a hell of war; what are you thinking?" As Akeron looked at him, he saw the face of a person covered by a metal mask glued to his soul in hell.
"Just telling my parents that I am still alive," Akeron replied with a chuckle, forwarding his hand towards his friend as a bond of inseparability. The sky was torn open by the light of a sun which had collapsed by the mere weight of its own, as clouds of sadness took over the remaining rays that fell on the land of heaven disguised as hell. While the soil was dry, still the water filled the land with the humidity of ashes. Both laughed, saying, "Let the dead in dead form come for us." Both laughed as they were hiding in a stepped field while the flag was raised at the post of Dhwaj, holding the Golden Tree upon it. The smell of gun oil came around while the metal shoes were soaked in blood, as both looked at each other, turning to take a peek at the valley of rivers where the River Surya and Mlkra meet a few kilometers away.
While hiding in the trench, they looked at a horse of silver and purple color that moved into the field like a Yagna to be fulfilled. Akeron whispered, turning his tone to seriousness while holding a roll of tobacco in his hand, "Do you think the Uru will come for us?"
His friend looked at him, the red cloth he wore around his neck clashing while his helmet looked like sun flames rising from the moon, and whispered, "Shit me... it can't happen; Princess Kronos is still recovering from the battle at River Purva." He inhaled a deep breath as the wind blew around his ear, hearing the sound of horse footsteps traveling around the valley with the echoes of their saddle and steel horseshoes.
Akeron looked around and whispered, "Did someone go to the trench of River Mlkra? There should be someone gone, like ten soldiers."
As his friend turned to him, the shackled armor giggled in fear. "I didn't order any soldiers," he said, widening his eyes while sweat ran through his face, knowing the consequences of the mistake. Akeron looked at him, meeting his eyes with a cowardice too great to speak, because cowardice is the second sin, but the first was to not look at the trench, leaving a blind spot in the bright daylight.
Then, suddenly, the horse's voice came as the roar of swords clashing for a thin second of life, as it cut through the flesh of the dead, killing their existence from reality. Akeron screamed, signaling, "Archers!! Horsemen!! Hold up tight, bastards!"
From the front, the Dhwaj bearing a catfish stood against them, while the horses in black and golden covers of leather came running towards the army of Altiran. In the trench, soldiers were ready, holding the tips of bows, leaning on fingers as the strings were extended, while Akeron held his palm upwards. He looked in front as the vines swelled from his hand, playing around the skin with a coldness of a smelted hammer, as the veins in his eyes pulsed blood in them to see the death of their own.
But the horsemen who shared in holding the Dhwaj of the gold fish stood a few hundred meters away, as the soldiers' chuckles from a distance echoed through the valley like the smile of Satan in front of mere souls. Akeron whispered, "This shouldn't be; he is coming."
As every soldier turned to him, the dry land of the trench filled with the water of the piss of soldiers looking dead serious at Akeron, he bit his tongue's tip until it bled, cutting the muscle and taste buds. A sweet, salty taste of blood ran through his mouth. "The Prince bearing the blades, Lord Kronos-Helio, is with this battalion."
The horses of golden leather moved aside as the men came forward with spears, wearing crowns and masks, as the blades of red and silver color hovered around his back—seven blades, one smaller than the other. His arm had scratches over it, and his dark armor featured red cracks symbolizing the wounds he carried with the glory of Uru. The Prince Kronos-Helio.
Kronos looked at the trench, turning his neck a little as he calculated the rays felt by the dead sun on the land, counting the grains as he raised his hand, opening his palm as a symbol for his men to move backwards, cutting the air around himself. The men on horses looked at him as they turned for the last time at the trench, pulling the leather leashes of the horses towards the right, eventually turning back for the field left open for the god bearing the taunt.
The sound of the horses turning back felt like relief in the trench, but Akeron looked at the field because Kronos never turned back. He screamed, "Arrows!! Load!!" Inhaling, "Hah... hah... Fire!" He pulled his arm, closing his knuckle tight.
The bows took over the rays of the fading sun as they moved through the air, cutting through it with the scent of blood-dipped tips and the poison of nerves, toward the Prince of Bearing. Kronos's eyes, hidden in the armor, looked at the rain of bows with the smile of his glory and ruin to shine, and whispered, "Souls in heaven disguised as hell don't exist in any realm after death... piss your pants hard."
The blades which hovered around his shoulder moved to the front, turning into a thick umbrella to stand against the rain of merciless, feared bows.
Guys this the end for webnovel upload rashein debt of destruction have gained loved from you is undeniable but know I am starting over kindle...pls come me find me at Amazon kindle and pls buy volume one there I need your help there
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